The Rise of the Muggle Lord
by Slaywrath the Noble
Summary: A Muggle boy washes up on the shore of Azkaban with no past. After an uncounted span of insanity, he regains his mind, and finds he can steal the magic from around him. Now, he will raise an army to turn the Muggle and Wizrding Worlds to dust.
1. Prologue

The rain pounded on the rocky shore of the small island. The storm was always bad here, and the tempest never abated. It was something the inhabitants got used to, along with other, darker discomforts. The island was in the middle of the water, nothing to any horizon. It was dismal island, and cold, terribly cold. Cold enough, even, to turn the rain to slush upon contact with anything exposed too long. And the heavy mist that rested all on the island and the waters around it was impossibly oppressive.

It was this island the boy's body had washed up on. His tattered black hair hung in a curtain around his head, plastered to his skin and rocks by the rain. His eyes were shut but behind the lids were startlingly blue eyes. His body was small, malnourished, and weak. His clothes were a tattered mess on his limp frame.

How did he get there? There was no sign of a ship, there was no sign of any airborne object, and he could not have swum. Any other means were also impossible; the barriers prevented it.

Who was the boy? Not even the boy would know. Almost dead and laced with traumatic mental scars, he would never reclaim whatever mind he had before this island.

What was the boy? He didn't belong on this island, he didn't belong near the island. There were barriers here that should have prevented him from even coming miles around it. He should have thought of somewhere, anywhere, else he had to be but here. Even in his unconscious form his mind was burning from the stress.

Where was the boy? The island was a perfect triangle. Five feet of rocks, sand, and shale stood between the edge of the low tide line and the wall. The wall was six stories tall, twenty feet wide. The wall also served as the building, housing the inhabitants. In the center of the three walls was a large courtyard, two hundred yards across from a tip to the wall across from it. Along the inner walls were stairs that led to balconies on every story, eventually making it to the top of the wall.

Where was the boy? Azkaban.

This Muggle boy was unconscious on the island of the wizard prison.


	2. Chapter One

The boy stood in the wide triangular courtyard, the dementors gliding passed him without a care. The boy tossed his black mane from his face, so he could better see. His hostile blue eyes looked at the man before him without emotion. He had lived on Azkaban for the entirety of his life he had known, and therefore emotion was alien to him.

"I ask you again, who are you?" the man demanded. The boy watched the man shiver as a dementor passed. The man was irritable from their presence. So had all the others who had come before this man. The boy had watched them the past seven years. They would come, the boy would hide, and these men and women would inspect everything. Then they would leave and the island would be free of them for the next month.

As another dementor glided incredibly close, the man shouted and pulled the thin stick from his pocket.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" the man bellowed. The Patronus flew out, and the silver eagle shot towards the dementors. The boy moved into the Patronus' path, and it exploded against his chest before the silvery wisps vanished. Before the man could express his outrage, the boy looked to the dementor.

He inhaled slowly, his breath rattling and sinisterly like their own breathing. The man drew back as the dementors left the courtyard.

"What did you do?" the man demanded. The boy looked at him and then smiled, a cold gesture.

"You are one of those wizards, aren't you?" the boy said, his voice charismatic and powerful for someone his age, which was in the middle teens. "You're from this Ministry of Magic, right?"

"Wrong," the man said as he waved his wand. Thin gold chains wrapped around the boy's form. The boy laughed and the chains vanished in smoke. Then the boy fell as his laugh gave into coughs. Blood flew from him as he coughed. In seconds however, a dementor was there. The dementor picked up the boy and glided off while the man struggled to his feet. A sudden kick to his back sent him sprawling. A new man picked up the wizard's wand.

"_Obliviate,_" the man said with a careless flick. The American wizard's mind lost itself and he passed out. The standing wizard bent down and placed the wand gently into the wizard's hand then let it roll out naturally. After this, the man rushed over to the dementor who held the boy. Many others left their cells, which had been unlocked when the wizard had seen the boy and left to question him; the dementors now only locked the prisoners up when Azkaban had a powerful wizard inspecting the estate of the prison, and they had unlocked it at that point because they hadn't bothered, hoping the wizards would aid the boy.

The boy himself was a great idol of fear and respect in Azkaban. He had arrived from nowhere, had no knowledge of anything, and had held a mind that was entirely wasted. But even more, the dementors didn't only have no effect on him, but the boy followed them everywhere.

When the boy had grown, he began to remember things, including that there were no such things as wizards and that these "things" couldn't exist. However, the witches and wizards who were still sane taught him a great deal of things. In no time at all, the boy knew all he needed about the wizarding world. And then he realized he was a Muggle, a term they used scathingly. Yet he could see the dementors, could see Azkaban, and he had power.

His broken mind had mended while he remained imprisoned on Azkaban. The only way on and off the island was by magic, and that was not allowed since he shouldn't even exist in this world. However, the boy had managed.

_Get away, I'm fine!_ the boy said in his head. The wizards and witches had only heard him take a rattling breath, which is how the dementors breathed while speaking their language.

_You used magic, again,_ the dementor said in the language they used. The boy settled his head and opened his blue eyes.

_Yes I used their powers again, and this time I meant to._ The boy stood up and his cloak fell about him. He had outgrown the rags he had arrived in, and at that time the dementors bestowed upon him their smoke like cloak. The boy found the material was neither solid, gas, or liquid, but all three, and it grew with him, always the perfect size. He found he was not only unaffected by dementors, but he spoke like them, and he even had their powers. He also had the powers of wizards. He wondered, then, if he met a house elf, could he steal their knowledge of their power from them?

"I am fine, Larkesus," the boy said to the wizard who had used the Memory Charm on the official. The boy walked to the wizard and watched him rest unconscious. "This is that Memory . . . Charm, yes?" The boy asked as the witches and wizards dispersed. The boy had talked the dementors into letting them roam Azkaban as they pleased, but he didn't care if the dementors fed off the ones who got too close or stood too still outside of their cells.

"Yes," Larkesus replied, bowing slightly. "I altered his memory so he wouldn't remember you or the day here, but he would recall that Azkaban is perfectly orderly." The boy nodded. "Why did you reveal yourself to this one?" the man added softly. The boy turned his cold eyes on the man.

"I have no reason, I just felt like I should," the boy replied before turning away. "Don't forget that tonight is Saturday," the boy added as he walked off, being surrounded by several dementors. The man watched as the dementors vanished into the mist, or rather the mist absorbed them.

The boy was not there when they had disappeared.

The boy watched as he set down his card. The seven little figures on it climbed out of the picture and charged across the table towards the three trembling defenders. Over the brutally violent slaughter, the boy looked at the man and smiled.

"My seven of clubs beats your three of hearts," the boy said. His seven soldier's large wooden bats bludgeoned the three white flags as the figures faded back onto their cards, the man tossed his three into a discard pile.

"My turn, however, Lord," the man said. A vein in the boy's forehead twitched slightly. His irritation was nothing compared to the inferno in his gut, exploding from the man's final word. He held up a card and waited for the boy to do the same. The boy lifted his card, chosen at random, and they set their cards down. The man's queen of spades, a large sphinx, charged forward to be roasted by the massive silver dragon the boy had set down. However, before the two figures could meet up, the table iced over, and as the cards were buried, the figures faded. The man was about to swear when he saw the boy. The boy's hands were frozen to the table, and it was from them that the ice was coming. As the ice traveled up the boy's arms, he smiled.

"Briar, why did you call me that?"

Briar realized his folly too late. His apology was lost, for when he opened his mouth, a dementor's lips intercepted them and his lost was lost at once. Briar sat there, his life no longer worth living. The boy did Briar a favor by holding out his own palm to Briar's forehead. A bright flash of purple and Briar fell, dead.

To the spectators, the boy shook the ice from his arms and addressed.

"I am nothing like your old Lord Voldemort," the boy said. "He was Half-Blood, he was a trained wizard, and he was powerful. I am not even a Mudblood, for I leech the powers of _any_ magical creature rather than inherit the power from some unknown source. I am untrained, living o this island for so long and not knowing the world beyond. And finally, I am not powerful with magic, for I can barely control it. And the greatest of all: my name is not Tom Marvolo Riddle or Lord Voldemort." The boy turned and walked off, even the dementors parting for him. As his cloak and the mist swirled around him, taking him into the world where dementors traverse, he laughed.

"My name is Messor Umbris Angeli."

The wizards and witches stood around the frozen table and corpse. The dementors stood where they were.

Umbris was a wizard¾no, he was not even that¾was a Shade everything could easily grow to fear.


	3. Chapter Two

_Umbris stood watching the sea. The official had left a few hours ago, and the senseless drizzle barely obscured his vision of the mist coated water._

_I need a wand,_ he said to the dementor next to him. The dementor stood silently beside him for a moment.

_I could bring you a wandmaker, _the dementor said.

_Would you really go so far as that for me? _the boy asked. The dementor turned to face him.

_Umbris, you walk the road of all our worlds, and you blur the lines. A Muggle who can use magic, stolen from wizards, without a wand? A Muggle who can speak with and use powers of dementors, a gift granted to him without knowledge or the intent? No, you are so powerful that we dementors would do more for. We respect you from all over the world._

_I did realize you often come and go, _the boy said. _I recognize each dementor as an individual, something I doubt anyone else could claim to do. Why do dementors from all over visit Azkaban? Should they not remain in hiding in their darker corners of the wizards' world?_

_Why should we when a human dementor lives here worth seeing?_ the dementor asked. They stood silent for a long while.

"Umbris," a man called.

"What?" Umbris called without moving.

"There is a fight and none of the dementors are intervening," the man said.

_Wait for me to write you a note. Then I will have to ask you to do what an owl cannot and to bring him and his tools if he won't come willingly. _Then Umbris walked off to the an. The man led him to the fight were two wizards were brawling. Umbris stood a distance, not wishing to disturb their sport. The inmates watched the fight with relish, and Umbris had come to think of them as his people. They deserved the entertainment.

Perhaps I'll let them have it more often, he thought to himself. Fights on Wednesdays and betting games on Saturdays. The champion will be granted immunity from the dementors. Yes, that sounded fair.

When the two fighting wizards' hands started to shoot sparks, Umbris strode forward. The riotous crowd silenced, but the two remained fighting.

"Enough," Umbris said in a cold, quiet, powerful voice. The two did not, but the crowd drew back. The boy sighed and raised his palm, ready to kill.

A loud wailing siren flared once. The dementors looked to the south, as one, and even Umbris now felt the tug at his chest. The inmates, even the two fighting, rushed to their cells, for the single note meant a new wizard or witch was appearing. The sound caused the dementors to be alerted to it, and they all felt drawn to the spot the wizard would come from. There was once a time when they were escorted here by several officials. Now that magic had grown more complicated and a new Apparation blocks were devised, it was possible to use a Portkey to send someone to Azkaban, but never to take them away. But often an official would come by the same methods. This is why they return to their cells, the dementors assembled, and Umbris hid in their masses, his raised hood hiding him well enough.

A pale blue glow emanated from the ground a few feet away and a man appeared. His appearance suggested that he was a man of importance, wearing a deep blue suit, his hair gelled back, his goatee and mustache trimmed precisely. He held out an official parchment with a black seal at the bottom, though, which marked him as a new prisoner.

"I'm here on behalf of my crimes," the man said, as were his instructions to make sure the dementors didn't take his soul for trespassing. The damned brutes outside this island thought the dementors were brainless monsters still. The thought insulted, but was necessary.

"Shut yourself up, please," Umbris said to him, the man thought the dementors had said it though, and was stunned, but he staggered back as Umbris melted out of their cloaks and they went off to their own pursuits.

"Who are you?" the man demanded. Umbris threw back his hood as the inmates left their cells.

"My name is Umbris. Welcome to Azkaban." Umbris placed his hand on the small of the man's back and gestured to the nearest door. The man took the hint and started walking, Umbris beside him. As Umbris walked him up the triangular tower/wall that formed the perimeter of Azkaban, he explained to the man in a casually bored tone.

"We have a strict diet garnered by our own cooks, which is to say yourself. Actually, Damien Haupt is an amazing cook if you could get on his good side. Also, the showers are to be cleaned once you are done. You wouldn't believe how disgusting they were before. I'd like the bathrooms to stay clean. No littering either. I can't stand that crap. If you want sexual companionship, well, there's one coed bathroom, and a few of the inmates use curtains on their doors for privacy. Suicide is not forbidden here, but jump out not in, okay? The tide cleans you up nicely. What have I missed?" They now stood on the top of the wall, looking out at the sea. A dementor passed, affecting only the wizard.

"Oh yeah," Umbris said with a smile. "The dementors are under new ideals. They want respect, and if you don't give it, you get their Kiss. If you aren't in a 'locked' cell when an official comes to call, you get the Kiss. You break any of my rules, you get the Kiss. If you cheat on Saturday, you get the Kiss. And if you disrespect the Warden¾"

"Let me guess," the man said cutting off Umbris, "you get the Kiss?" The wizard made to smile but the appearance of a dementor materializing from the ground stopped him.

"Worse," Umbris said as the dementor left. "You disrespect me, I get to deal with you."

"And who the hell are you? The man challenged. A witch nearby laughed and shook her head, walking over.

"Go easy on the new guy, please, Umbris?" she said in a joking tone.

"I will," Umbris said with a wink and a smile to her, "only if they're smart enough not to cross me so bad off the start." without warning he punched the man hard enough to knock him back four feet where he landed on his back. As he tried to get up, Umbris stomped on his chest, winding him. Kneeling on the man's chest, Umbris got close to the man, his cold breath icing the sweat on the man's brow.

"If you need any more advice, ask the inmates."

Then Umbris was gone, as if he had never been.

A group of seven played cards at a table in the courtyard. They often played against each other every day, but Umbris' tournaments were Saturdays. Few had ever beaten Umbris, though the boy never cheated. He loved cheaters so much, they joked, that he had ordered a Kiss for each one.

One of the men was the new wizard, his nose mending slowly. He looked at the dementors and shivered.

"What kind of a prison is this?" he asked them "I've heard of many going mad here, but this doesn't seem too bad, except that 'warden' brat." One of the dementors nearby stopped and faced them. One of the witches shook her head.

"Don't mess with that boy," she said as her silver dragon tormented the assembled warriors who had attacked her. They were destroyed easily as her dragon continued its assault against a eight of spades, all of whom had dropped their blade-like shovels and tried to use their card as a shield to no avail.

"Why not?" he demanded. "If Azkaban is so lenient, we could rule it without the pubescent."

"Azkaban is lenient _because_ of the boy," another, much older wizard said. "I was here thirty years, sentenced to live here for the rest of my life. I was near death when the boy was found. The dementors were confused by the boy, and they basically raised him from seven or so years old. He's like their child. They respect him, and he turned this place upside down. No one knows how it is here. They don't know some _kid_ made it so we leave our cells, play cards, converse, recreate, and even have partial immunity from the dementors who used to sit in your cell for the hell of it before."

"The Dark Angel is our savior. Umbris Angeli is not to be messed with."

"But," the wizard persisted, "why should we listen to him just because he changed a few things?"

"Because we have no idea what he is," the witch said.

"He was a Muggle brain addled by the enchantments meant to keep his kind away."

"Then he became immune to the enchantments."

"Then he became immune to the dementors."

"Then he started using wizard magic."

"Then he started talking to dementors."

"Then he started freezing things like them."

They sat silently. They had dropped all their cards, so all of the figures had rushed out to fight, but none of them cared. The wizard was starting to understand, but he could never understand how powerful the Umbris was to them. The boy was breaking too many barriers to think of. Even if the Dark Lord was alive, this boy was beyond Riddle's power. This boy was beyond anyone's power.

_Wandmaker,_

_I write to give you a proposition. I am currently unequipped with a wand, unable to come to procure a wand, unable to afford a wand, and not technically allowed to own a wand. However, if you are unwilling to come to me at my current residence with your tools and supplies to craft me a unique wand, I am sure my messenger will gladly bring you to me. My current residence is Cell 42, Azkaban. _

_Please respond to my messenger. He has been told ten minutes before he uses force. _

_My most humble regards,_

_Reaper of Dark Angels_

_Messor Umbris Angeli_

Rolling up the parchment, Umbris handed it to the dementor beside him.

"If he hasn't started for the journey in ten minutes, do not hesitate to take everything, including him, and bring it to me," Umbris said aloud, not using the dementors' speak for once. His head had started to hurt, and he didn't feel he had the strength to commune that way.

_You worry too much, Dark Angel, _the dementor assured him. _I will find the darkest of the wandmakers for you. There will be no need for force. The dementor took the parchment and then glided into the air, flying off over the water, vanishing into the thick mist beyond the island. He stayed for a while on the wall, unaware that across the island a meeting was taking place._

_The new wizard, Marcus by name, stood with several other malcontents. They spoke of the reverence granted to the boy by the inmates, and they all felt he was undeserving. But even more dangerous was they came to the meeting for one cause._

_Marcus handed each of his new followers a wand._


End file.
